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Grace Street

And like that, we are out of the city. It’s been about two weeks since we moved out of our cozy little one bedroom in Lakeview. I loved that apt. I loved the apt more than the location. Sure living down the street from Wrigley Field is a novelty (you can see the stadium lights from the window) but we were sold on the apt before we were sold on the location. Exposed brick, lofted ceilings, complete rehab, and no apartments below us or above us – it was an easy decision.

However, after two years we outgrew the space, and now have different things to consider. The commute out to the ‘burbs was quite a hassle. Our gateways to the outerlands (I90/94 and I90) are by far the worst highways to commute on, just about anytime of day. So when Des started working in Schaumburg his days were consistently long and stressful, even on his short days.

Then the baby came in February.

She is obviously small and takes up minimal space, but her things take up quite a bit of space, and we didn’t even splurge on the big stuff. It was time to make a decision. It was either we move out when Lucy is five months, or lease for another year and move out when Lucy is a year and five months. Which, it would be nearly impossible baby-proofing that place. The sharp corners, exposed brick, and raw wood seem like a recipe for disaster.

We got our ducks in a row, assessed our new needs/desires and bought a house… in the ‘burbs. It was a really hard decision for me to make. I cannot be more sincere when I say I love the city, and city living. I’ve basically been living in some sort of metropolitan area for the last ten years. I love it. I love public transit, hate looking for parking, hate paying for parking, love the little corner bakeries, love walking to diners to meet friends for lunch, love biking down the lakefront trail, love taking Gordon to the Montrose beach, love the festivals, love the diversity, love being walking distance to everything I need, and above all – I LOVE the food.

There is just no match for restaurants in the suburbs. And it doesn’t help that I’m kind of picky.

I’m pretty much a vegetarian. I’m not a fan of the label because god-forbid anyone see me eating a burger from DMK. I’ll eat meat when I feel like it, when it’s responsibly sourced, we it’s grass fed or free range, when I feel right about it, when it’s my mom’s meatballs, when I don’t want to offend anyone, when I don’t want to inconvenience anyone, when I have a taste for a crispy-almost-burnt piece of bacon, when it smells really good, or when I just want a damn beef from Portillo’s. I just don’t want to have to explain all that to people when they ask. So in the rare instances I do actually eat meat and for labels sake – I’m pretty much a vegetarian. And I’d be pretty much vegan if it weren’t for my love of cheese.

Back to the point.

Being a vegetarian in the suburbs means ordering salads with out the meat, but being charged for the meat anyway. It means lot’s of pizza, and deep fried appetizers. It means seeing fish on the vegetarian menu (wtf?) It means very limited options. But not in the city. It’s easy to be a vegetarian in the city, even a meat eatin’ city like Chicago.

After two weeks in our new abode, I’m really happy with our decision. No buyers remorse here. I love having our very own house, and yard, and garage, and laundry room. I love that Des, Lucy, Gordon and I can walk right out our back door and play outside. I really love that Des’ commute is a fraction of what it used to be. Most of all, I love being so close to my family. We can see them whenever we want, or really it’s whenever they want to see Lucy. They can help us, we can help them. It’s good, and I’m sure my parent’s are thinking “it’s about time.”

Anyway, I digress, again. Here is our lovely little city apartment. Hopefully it won’t be our last city apartment.